


The Most Badass BJ in the Valley

by trinityofone



Series: First Strikes [3]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, Lists, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinityofone/pseuds/trinityofone
Summary: Johnny embarks on a mission to give Daniel the world's most epic blowjob.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Series: First Strikes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164407
Comments: 27
Kudos: 126





	The Most Badass BJ in the Valley

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I guess I am officially acknowledging that this is a series! A sloppy mess of a series, which may be, you know, fitting. Many thanks to [Amymone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymone/pseuds/Amymone) for encouraging the naming of said series, and to [Siria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria) for looking this over.
> 
> Titles degrading in real time, just like Daniel's Responsible Human disguise.

Somehow Johnny gets it into his head that he wants to _do_ something for Daniel.

Because Daniel keeps _doing_ things for Johnny: giving him cars, feeding him, dropping to his knees for Johnny at the slightest provocation, dicking him down until Johnny can’t see straight, sticking his greedy little tongue in all sorts of places. It’s very annoying. Daniel knows Johnny can’t reciprocate most of these things. Sure, he can give Daniel his cock and make him love it, but—and this is not a piece of self-critique—it doesn’t seem to have the quite the same effect on him as it does on Johnny. Daniel must not be wired right or something. Sucks to be him. But what this means is that “a good hard fuck” doesn’t quite work for the level of gift Johnny wants this to be.

An absolutely epic blowjob must be the way to go.

Johnny gives this blowjob a lot of thought. For whatever reason, he has not become quite the aficionado of cocksucking that Daniel has. Maybe Johnny was on to something with that billboard, because Daniel can’t seem to wait to get Johnny’s prick in his mouth. It’s one of the only things that shuts him up—except even then, not really, because he talks every second he isn’t literally choking on a dick: commenting on how eager Johnny looks, on how bad he must want it; ordering Johnny to feed him his cock, to pull his hair; telling him to beg for it. So now, doesn’t matter the circumstances, if Daniel’s voice drops into that tone, Johnny will get hot. It’s a good thing he mostly _asks_ their students to do things, doesn’t order them, because otherwise Johnny might have to not infrequently stifle reactions not appropriate to a classroom setting.

Johnny wants to give Daniel things of his own to think about at inopportune moments.

So not just a blowjob: the most memorable blowjob in the world.

Key best BJ ingredients:  
\--Blower kneeling  
\--Blowee standing (optimum power dynamic; small element of humiliation)  
\--Bit sloppy ok  
\--Hair pulling?  
\--At least one moment of intense eye contact  
\--Choke just a little because you want him to know he’s just _that big_  
\--NO TEETH  
\--Must swallow  
\--Alternately: pull back at just the right moment and let him come all over your face  
\--Do all of this in a semi-public place where at any moment you might get caught (large element of humiliation)

That last thing seems like the key aspect to Johnny, the thing that will raise _this_ blowjob above all of Daniel’s excellent but run-of-the-mill blowjobs. He’ll go down on him (very nearly) in public, run the risk of outing himself not just as someone who has sex with men, but as the one who gets down on his knees. Just the thought makes Johnny shiver—in horror, mostly, probably. But that’s the sacrifice he’s willing to make. That’s what he can do for Daniel.

He contemplates concocting an elaborate plan, choosing in advance the precise location of this best and most important blowjob. But ultimately he decides that takes away some of the allure: the raw spontaneity that’s an additional and not insignificant element. So he bides his time and waits to spot his opening.

Then one night they take the kids to Chili’s. Just Miguel and Sam, because that’s really about all Johnny can take, and even that’s a bit much sometimes since the incident at CPK. (Sam later swore up and down that she’d thought it was Miguel’s ankle she was rubbing, and Johnny had had no reason to believe it _wasn’t_ Daniel’s toes moving up the inside of his calf because the man’s extremities are freakishly small, okay? Anyway they’d both made a pact never to talk about it ever again, and Johnny feels like they kind of get each other now, so you know what, it’s all good, it’s fine.)

Daniel’s in the midst of talking himself into ordering the molten chocolate cake by attempting to persuade the kids it’s really them he’s offering to do a favor for when Sam and Miguel’s phones buzz almost simultaneously and then they’re both politely demurring: no, no, they don’t need to go to this party; it’s fine, this is family time (Johnny does not tear up); they’re happy to stay; oh really? Are Johnny and Daniel sure? Okay, then they’re gonna take off—they’ll both text later—They exchange hugs awkwardly across the table and then they’re gone.

Daniel looks down at the menu with a sigh. “Well, it’s silly to get this if they’re not here to share,” he says, and then looks over at Johnny with hope brimming in his eyes.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Johnny says.

He slides out of the booth. The back of his neck is prickling. He’s already decided this is it; it’s time. He Terminator-stalks into the men’s room, claims the handicapped stall, closes the door and doesn’t lock it. Then he takes his phone out of his pocket.

_need your help w something_

_I thought you were going to the bathroom?_

_thats where I am come help me_

_…_

Johnny waits, sweating. After way too long a time—what if he were actually in trouble? He could be having a heart attack in here and it seems Daniel would just _casually stroll_ to the rescue?—the main door creaks open. “Johnny?”

“On the end.” Johnny’s voice sounds a little strangled. “It’s open.”

Meanwhile Daniel is muttering to himself: “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I. Whatever this is. God help me.”

Daniel pushes open the door slowly, like he’s expecting to see a blood-spattered murder scene.

Johnny grabs him by the shirt and yanks him over the threshold. He pushes him up against the cold tile wall, hears the satisfying oof as the air goes out of his lungs. Grinning wolfishly, establishing eye contact, Johnny locks the door.

“No,” Daniel says.

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m not having sex in here! What, did you really think I was gonna blow you in the bathroom at Chili’s?”

“I was gonna blow _you_.”

This does make Daniel pause. Johnny feels a moment of pride, but then Daniel’s face crinkles prissily again.

“That doesn’t matter! Anyone could walk in here! Johnny, this is a _family restaurant_.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “It’s not the Vatican. It’s a _Chili’s_.”

“Yeah, and do you know how hard it is to find a lowest common denominator chain restaurant to take the kids to? You’re banned from _how_ many exactly?”

“Only four.”

“ _Four_?” 

“Arby’s doesn’t count! I’m only banned from the Canoga Park location, not the chain as a whole.”

“Oh my god.” Daniel’s complexion has gone an interesting color.

Johnny presses up against him. “Please,” he says in a low voice, because he knows how much Daniel likes that. “I can’t stand it for another second. I’ve just gotta get my mouth on you, LaRusso.”

“Uh huh,” Daniel says. “You were sitting out there, having just eaten an entire rack of ribs, and suddenly you were simply…overcome by the desire to suck me off.”

And why is that so fucking hard to believe? Johnny kisses along the line of Daniel’s jaw. “You don’t think you get me hot? That you drive me wild? I thought your ego was _much_ healthier than that.” 

He tries to worm a hand into Daniel’s slacks and Daniel slaps him away.

“I’m sure you’d agree that my ego is more than fine. I’m just being realis—Johnny, if you give me a hickey in a public restroom, I swear to god—” 

“Then let me suck on something else,” Johnny—for fuck sake— _whines_ , and then he just does it, he drops to his knees. His jeans adhere immediately to the sticky linoleum floor, and okay, this isn’t ideal, but he’s got his hands on Daniel’s thighs and—

Daniel steps over him like a mess on the sidewalk and jerks the lock on the stall door. “We are _not_ doing this,” he says.

Johnny hears the door bang shut behind him.

Back in the restaurant’s main room, Daniel is tugging an enormous wad of cash from his wallet; he chucks it onto their table with barely a glance, snaps his jacket up off the seat, and stalks toward the door. Johnny watches him go with acid in his throat. 

When he unfreezes it’s swift. He storms out to the parking lot and catches sight of Daniel’s back, turning toward the rear of the restaurant and wherever he parked his Audi. “Hey!” Johnny shouts, because he already tanked this; might as well go down in flames. “You think you’re better than me?”

Daniel stops. When he turns, Johnny’s half-surprised his feet aren’t digging divots into the pavement. “Well, I’m not trying to start a shouting match in public,” he says, in an infuriatingly level voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. Wouldn’t want to mess up your—run for city council.”

Daniel sighs. “Johnny.”

He suddenly hates the way Daniel says his name. Like he’s a problem to be solved. A recalcitrant employee, someone to be _managed_. Not loved; _tolerated_.

Not that—not that Daniel is meant to be _loving_ him: poor choice of words, he’s not wanting or demanding that, _obviously_ ; only that sometimes it would be nice not to be treated like a mess Daniel has to clean up. That’s it. That’s all he’s saying.

He hasn’t said anything.

He feels the old familiar fire—the thing that hauled him out here, that he’d felt, mere moments ago, might help him solve this problem with his feet or his fists—flicker and go out. 

“Never mind,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s turning toward where his own car is parked—or rather, the car he’s currently driving, that fucking Daniel fucking gave him—when a hand closes around his wrist. He’s too tired to even properly fling it off, so he just emits his own weary sigh and looks around. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Daniel says. “Just—come here, come sit down with me for a minute.”

Daniel manages—haha—to lure him over to one of the metal benches bolted to the walkway in front of the restaurant. They sit. The bench is cold and hard, and Daniel’s not saying anything, just looking at Johnny with what Johnny thinks may be pity, and Johnny should want to slug him but he’s too tired and also that’s weird now. They were so good at fighting each other; in a fight, Johnny could give as good as he got, but now he knows what it feels like when Daniel touches him gently so even that door is closed to him. It was so much easier to handle being hurt by Daniel when Johnny could just punch him in the face.

“—Fifty-nine, sixty,” Johnny says, as if he’d been counting in his head this whole time, the space free of any other thoughts. “Okay, there, that was a minute.” He stands up.

“ _Johnny_.” Daniel is not gentle, hauling him down again. “I’m trying…”

He breaks off and nods chummily to an older couple teetering their way into the restaurant. Citizen LaRusso. Johnny’s surprised he doesn’t bolt up and rush to hold the door open for them.

Johnny starts to stand a second time but Daniel’s clinging to the hem of his flannel shirt. He looks briefly pathetic, which Johnny likes a little, honestly. “What?” Johnny demands. “Are you obsessed with this bench?”

“ _Please_ ,” Daniel says, and _oh_ , Johnny thinks, _oh that’s why he likes it_ , and then Daniel’s tugging him close with a searching look, seeking permission. Johnny half-nods, already feeling his eyes gliding closed, and then they are kissing on a bench outside the Chili’s.

They don’t do this. Aside from in the bathroom earlier, the fleeting touch of Johnny’s mouth to Daniel’s throat, he’s not sure they’ve ever locked lips or held each other or anything like that outside Miyagi-Do’s fence. They’ve certainly never kissed in public, in a place where anyone could see. 

That prickle up the back of his neck is back; there’s a thrumming in his blood, an anticipatory surge halfway between excitement and terror. Daniel’s mouth is eager, aggressive; he holds Johnny’s face in place with both hands and kisses him like he has something to prove. Which maybe he does; maybe they both do. 

When they break apart, panting, Johnny sees Daniel’s face washed in neon red. He blinks slowly, like a man coming out of a trance, and Johnny feels another shiver of fear until his expression breaks into a grin and he presses forward again.

They haven’t made out just to make out in a while; there are too many other interesting things to _do_ ; new, unspeakable places to put their mouths, etc. But this is nice. It’s really nice. Even the watchful energy that never quite leaves Daniel’s shoulders—Johnny’s neither: it’s an edginess that almost adds to the excitement. They are out here, blatant as can be, beside the entrance to a _family restaurant_ ; at any moment someone is bound to object to this enormously gay behavior.

But no one does. They hear the door open and close several times; footsteps on the pavement; the passing chatter of voices: all disinterested. One kid about Daniel’s son’s age looks up from his phone long enough to roll his eyes and mutter, “Get a room,” but that’s it: that’s the most confrontational response—a little bit of lip from a twelve-year-old.

Johnny catches Daniel’s eye flicker over the expanse of the dark parking lot again, and the pieces click together in his mind. He laughs against Daniel’s mouth and pulls back. “You were hoping somebody would start shit!”

“What?” says Daniel, unconvincingly. “No—”

“You wanted a fight! You’re dying to bust some heads!”

Daniel squirms, but Johnny’s got his right knee pinned between _his_ knees, his hands fisted around Daniel’s unzipped jacket. “Not in a, a premeditated way, just—”

Johnny darts back in to nibble at his bottom lip. “You looking to beat the shit out of some homophobes, baby?” he says, too giddy to be alarmed at the way the pet name slips out. “All you had to do was ask.”

It takes three tries for them to find a bar shitty enough for two middle-aged men sucking face within its hallowed walls to stir up the kind of trouble they’re looking for. Daniel bitches all the way to the first one, an extended rant about how they shouldn’t be doing this, it was against his principles, Johnny was going to get them both _arrested_ , seeking out violence was blah blah blah— but he still gets out of the car when Johnny parks, he still goes inside one scuzzy looking drinking establishment after another, still kisses Johnny in dim orange and red and yellow half-light, in the glow of flat screen TVs and whirling electronic jukeboxes and a fucking _fish tank_ , which would be very cool to incorporate into a fight, but the guys who finally crowd into their space and start talking shit decide they want to take it outside. So it’s back beside the dumpster that the action explodes, that Johnny gets to see Daniel unleashed. And when the five whiny little bigots—one of whom came at Johnny with a fucking _two-by-four_ ; disarming him was badass—have all pussed out and run away, Johnny shoves Daniel back against the brick wall and drops to his knees on the gritty pavement.

“Oh fuck,” Daniel says, chest heaving as Johnny fumbles open his belt. He’s half hard already just from the fight, and his eyes lock on Johnny’s as Johnny takes him in hand and feeds himself the wet tip of his cock. He sees Daniel see his cheeks hollow out as he starts to suck, hears him moan as he takes him deeper, loud above the blood roaring in Johnny’s ears and the traffic on the boulevard, so close. It’s filthy out here and Daniel’s hands are fisting great handfuls of Johnny’s shirtsleeves and Johnny’s own untouched cock feels like it’s going to bust through the zipper of his jeans. There are a dozen or more asshole guys just on the other side of this wall, and second to second, any one of them could step out here and see everything: the moment, all too soon, when Daniel says, “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna—” and comes down Johnny’s throat. 

Johnny swallows like the champ he is, then springs up on sore knees and plasters himself against Daniel’s body, kissing him frantically as he struggles to free his dick. It’s pathetic how quickly he ruts and spills against the jut of Daniel’s hip. But he can tell how blissed out, how bone-deep satisfied Daniel must be by the fact that he doesn’t spare a thought toward the fact that Johnny’s just destroyed his pants. They stand together, ruined and shaking, touching each other with dirty hands and swollen knuckles.

Daniel tips his head back against the wall: his hair is mussed, a tangled nest of dark strands, and his lip is bloody—either from taking a hit or because Johnny at some point bit him. His eyes are dark and shining, and Johnny feels drunk from tasting the wild heat of his breath.

After a moment Daniel loops his arms around the back of Johnny’s neck and tugs him close. He’s smiling: loopy and silly and broader, maybe, that Johnny’s ever seen. “Dammit, Johnny,” he says breathlessly. “You are a terrible influence.”

Johnny ducks his head and says, “You’re welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @trinityofone on Tumblr, posting pictures of Zabka in crop tops and crying. So you know, get in on that.


End file.
